


Clever Pun about Friendship Birthday Shenanigans

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [14]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, birthday friendship is magic, friendship is magic in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And here we have the elusive Thenardier, celebrating the big two-one by sucking face with her boyfriend. Which is cool, don’t get me wrong, I’d be sucking face with my boyfriend otherwise, but—”</p><p>“R, so help me god, I will break your phone.” Eponine laughs this directly into the camera while Combeferre lets out a frustrated noise, frowning at her distraction. “Alright, alright, let’s go, but you’re not filming everything.”</p><p>“Not my fault your goodbyes take a thousand years!” Grantaire pouts, before turning the camera on himself, holding his phone out just enough to catch at least part of his face. “Instead of doing the sensible thing, our Miss Eponine is spending her birthday with me, of all people. Which, considering the hot med student whose face she could be sucking, is a mystery, but I won’t argue, because the company’s grand.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clever Pun about Friendship Birthday Shenanigans

Eponine doesn’t often wake up in beds that aren’t hers, but when she wakes up Saturday morning it’s on soft sheets covering a soft mattress, one of those memory foam pillows tucked between her arm and her head. When she rolls over the side of the bed that Combeferre usually sleeps on is empty, and she can hear the faint sounds of the shower from the other room.

The sheets smell like his soap and when she sits up to look for her clothes she blushes, remembering that they’re in the living room (it’s hardly the first time they haven’t made it to his bedroom before ending up with their hands all over each other, but still, it never stops being a little uncomfortable to find Marius steadfastly refusing to look at the jeans and panties that got left on the floor).

Still, it’s an excuse to wear his clothes, and she likes doing that—his shirts are soft and his boxers are loose. When she gets out of his room the apartment is empty, and she grins, remembering that Cosette had invited Marius to spend the night in their dorm, so as to give Eponine and Combeferre the space to themselves.

When Combeferre gets out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel, Eponine is reading the newspaper and drinking the coffee he’d put on, and she feels his fingers in her hair before she sees him. With a grin, she tips her head back, her soft “good morning” mumbled against his lips when he bends to kiss her, his nose brushing her chin. He stands up straight again, and she turns to look at him, taking the moment to appreciate her boyfriend soaking wet in a towel, before grinning when he speaks.

“Happy birthday.”

\------

When Grantaire comes back to bed it’s only to find that Enjolras is awake, his hands outstretched to take the coffee cup his boyfriend is holding. With a laugh Grantaire slips back into bed beside him, holding the coffee out for him to take and share. Once he’s had some, Enjolras settles back down on his pillow, nuzzling Grantaire’s hip.

“I hate allergy season,” he mutters, and Grantaire laughs fondly, playing absently with the golden curls spilling across the pillowcase as he finishes his coffee. “When was the last time you were awake before me?”

“Last Saturday, when I turned off your alarm.”

“I’m still mad about that,” Enjolras warns, squinting up at Grantaire tiredly, before letting out a loud yawn. “What do we have to do today?”

There’s still a little thrill whenever Grantaire hears Enjolras refer to “us” or “we”, and he lifts the coffee cup to his lips to hide this.

“I’m taking Eponine out, Cosette and Bahorel are baking the cake, and Musichetta and Feuilly are going to get the gift.” Grantaire sets the cup down to tick off his fingers as he lists names. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac are dragging you out to decorate, which means that Courfeyrac is going to decorate while you and Combeferre remind him that no, you don’t actually need that much glitter for anything, Joly and Jehan are getting the food, and Marius and Bossuet are getting the alcohol.”

Enjolras just yawns again, pressing a lazy kiss to the bare skin of Grantaire’s side.

“I feel like I haven’t really seen you in ages,” Enjolras mumbles, and Grantaire has to stop himself from gasping at that, because the reminder that Enjolras wants to see him, wants him there when he’s not, sends a thrill along his spine.

Nodding, Grantaire bites his lip. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jehan while you lock yourself away to study,” he says, half-teasing. “He’s a good roommate. He’s been teaching me about poetry. Or, well, trying to. I really only pay attention about a third of the time.”

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire curiously. He can’t see the way Grantaire’s hands are shaking, and he’s not awake enough to notice the hectic spots of pink across his cheeks. “Oh?”

“Mm. I think it’s probably a natural danger when you spend too much time with him.” Enjolras lets out a sleepy laugh, and Grantaire clears his throat, trying to calm his nerves.

He’s really not prepared to say this.

“Anyway, I keep randomly thinking poetry when I’m around people now. It’s a problem. I start associating fucking sonnets with our friends.”

“What do you associate with me?” Enjolras’ voice is practically a hum, and he watches Grantaire expectantly.

This is the hard part.

This is the part he’s not prepared for.

“There’s this one line in a Sylvia Plath one he showed me,” Grantaire says, stalling. He can’t even begin to imagine why he thought this was a good idea. “I think it’s Lady Lazarus? _I rise with my red hair/and I eat men like air._ ”

Enjolras turns his face back into Grantaire’s side, and Grantaire feels the smile against his skin. “Mary Kate?”

“Mhm.” With a laugh, Grantaire slides his fingers back into Enjolras’ hair, willing his breathing to calm. “And then, for Cosette, there’s one by a woman from the Beat generation, Diane di Prima. It’s called ‘An Exercise in Love’ and it _screams_ Cosette.”

Enjolras kisses just above his hip. “What about me?” he pries gently, and Grantaire clears his throat again, willing the words.

They’re not his words, not really, even if he means them entirely, and that’s some comfort, at least.

“ _I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz/or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off/I love you as certain dark things are to be loved/in secret, between the shadow and the soul._ ” There’s a pause, a silence so heavy that it feels like it might crush him, and Grantaire chews the inside of his cheek until he breaks the skin. From the irregular heat of Enjolras’ breath against his skin, he knows Enjolras knows exactly what he means, and he adds, softly, “Pablo Neruda.”

“Any others?” Enjolras asks, and his voice is so quiet it’s barely audible. Grantaire shakes his head, and either Enjolras is watching him or Enjolras just knows, because he murmurs a quick, “Come down here,” and once Grantaire obeys, rolls on top of him, propping himself up on bent elbows on either side of Grantaire’s head, their hips matched. “Neruda was a genius, but I’d have expected Browning.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Enjolras dips his head to brush his nose across Grantaire’s collarbones. “ _If thou must love me, let it be for naught/except for love’s sake._ ”

Grantaire freezes underneath him, then—“How does it end?”

Enjolras lifts his head to murmur the words into Grantaire’s mouth. “ _But love me for love’s sake, that evermore/Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity._ ” He presses his lips to the tip of Grantaire’s nose, looking more awake than he has in days. “My mother,” he explains, “had a collection of Browning’s poetry. When she moved to New York, she left it behind, and I read it a lot while I was still young enough to miss her.” He laughs, murmurs, “I know others,” and seems about to start reciting when the apartment door slams shut—

—and there’s Cosette, immediately coming into the room before backing out, muttering _sorry sorry sorry I should have called_.

Enjolras peers at her curiously over his shoulder, beckoning her back in, and she does, though she keeps her eyes averted.

“The food we ordered? The shop just called to say that they agreed to do too many orders today and they can’t get to ours, since ours was last. Which means Bahorel is helping Jehan and Joly with the cooking. Which means _I’m_ alone for the cake. And I mean—it’s not like Courfeyrac’s actually going to let you decorate and I mean don’t make me bake the cake alone my baking skills are severely limited.”

For the first time since their friendship began Grantaire is furious with Cosette, even though it really isn’t her fault.

But he’s pretty sure that Enjolras heard his _I love you_ hidden under Neruda.

What he’s not sure of is if there was one hiding beneath the Browning.

\------

“And here we have the elusive Thenardier, celebrating the big two-one by sucking face with her boyfriend. Which is cool, don’t get me wrong, I’d be sucking face with _my_ boyfriend otherwise, but—”

“R, so help me god, I will break your phone.” Eponine laughs this directly into the camera while Combeferre lets out a frustrated noise, frowning at her distraction. “Alright, _alright,_ let’s go, but you’re not filming everything.”

“Not my fault your goodbyes take a thousand years!” Grantaire pouts, before turning the camera on himself, holding his phone out just enough to catch at least part of his face. “Instead of doing the _sensible_ thing, our Miss Eponine is spending her birthday with me, of all people. Which, considering the hot med student whose face she could be sucking, is a mystery, but I won’t argue, because the company’s grand.”

“You’re a shit,” Eponine laughs, kissing Combeferre goodbye (for real, this time). He claps Grantaire on the shoulder with a grin as he leaves, and then Grantaire throws himself on the couch, beaming and turning the camera on Eponine.

“Now, my darling girl,” he says with a thick, false Southern accent straight out of Gone with the Wind, “we have options. We can trick everyone into thinking we’re a married couple, take your siblings out, do the family-friendly thing. Get lunch and a movie or something. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or I take you to a seedy-as-fuck bar, teach you how to play pool, buy you your first totally legal drink, and convince you to dance with me.”

Eponine bursts out laughing and stands. She’s wearing a pair of jeans, a short-sleeved plaid shirt, and a grin, and she holds her hand out for Grantaire. He hasn’t seen her this genuinely happy in a long, long time. “Hey now, what makes you think I don’t know how to play pool?”

“Do you mean to tell me you know how?”

“Come on, then, stud,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes, “and I’ll show you the time of your life losing to me. You’re buying more than the first drink.”

“How very forward of you, Mademoiselle,” he gasps, but he takes her hand and hoists himself up, keeping the camera aimed at her face.

The last shot before they leave the apartment is Eponine’s laughing face, obscured by her hand as she lifts it to cover the phone.

He doesn’t stop filming until she stops laughing. It’s a beautiful sound.

\------

“How long have you known Eponine?”

Cosette is wandering through the aisles of the supermarket, a vision of innocence and femininity in her white dress and ringlet curls and heeled sandals, and Enjolras pities everyone who sees her and doesn’t immediately think that she’s a threat. “Pretty much since we were born,” he answers, honestly, as she grabs three different boxes of cake mix. “Don’t do red velvet, she hates red velvet. Get the… hmm, do you want to just make it from scratch?”

When Cosette turns back to him her eyes are wide and she’s beaming. “You know how to make stuff from scratch?” she asks, sounding ecstatic.

“Courfeyrac’s aunt taught me how to cook last time I visited her. I can cook a handful of things, and I’m not at all bad at baking, but I’m not the best at it. She gave me a recipe for her triple chocolate cake.”

“Will it be big enough for fourteen people?”

“We’ll do two layers. Come on, want to do that?” he asks; he’s already stopped moving, leaning his elbows on the cart while he pulls out his smart phone to dig through his email.

Cosette nods, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Definitely,” she says, and he can’t help but grin at her happiness. “Come on, let’s get supplies. Tell me more about Eponine.”

Enjolras wonders if the other shoppers see the blond curls and the blue eyes and the passion in the way they stand and think them siblings. “We immediately hit it off. We share everything. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t my best friend. I was there when Gavroche and Azelma were born, she was there when my parents got divorced.” He shrugs, and Cosette watches him expectantly, looking pleased by the conversation. “She was the first person I came out to, too.”

“Can I ask what the story behind that is?” Cosette asks, linking her arm through Enjolras’, and he shrugs, grinning.

“I planned it for weeks. I was so nervous, and I actually ended up in tears sitting on her couch. I was fourteen, I think. And I was crying, and saying ‘I think I’m gay, please don’t think differently of me’ and she just said ‘okay’ and held my hand until I stopped crying. Coming out wasn’t a big deal to anyone else after that. Even my parents; Eponine came with me and I was okay. That was part of why we decided to lose our virginity to each other—”

“Wait,” Cosette interrupts, and Enjolras laughs at the look of surprise on her face. “You two had sex?”

“We were sixteen, and we figured that if we were going to have to have a ‘first time’, it might as well be with the person we trusted most, and that was each other.” Enjolras grins and shrugs, looking amused. “Like I said, we shared everything.”

\------

True to his word, Grantaire buys the first round of drinks. And the second. And the third.

And Eponine, it seems, has quite a knack for hustling other customers, and by the time she’s finished her third beer she’s got a few hundred dollars in her pockets that weren’t there before, and she’s grinning. Grantaire might feel bad, except that of the men she’d hustled, every last one of them had either been hitting on her or insulting her (or both), and really, they deserved it.

Grantaire is good, too, but he hangs back, watching Eponine with awe as she plays everyone as easily as she plays the game. She’s even better at this than Cosette, and he shudders to think the kind of havoc they could wreak together.

She’s shed her plaid shirt and stands in her tank top and her jeans, one hand in her back pocket as she moves around the table to get a good look. The man she’s playing against calls her “sweetheart” and she shoots him a positively deadly grin before—

“How is that even _possible?_ ” he mutters a few minutes later, grumbling as he counts out bills for her, and she slips them into her back pocket.

“Luck,” Eponine says with wide, innocent eyes and a bright smile. When he’s gone, too frustrated to stay in the bar, Eponine hands her cue off to someone else and grabs Grantaire by the hand. “You said you’d dance with me,” she reminds him, and she looks so comfortable, like she’s having so much fun, and so, laughing, Grantaire tucks his phone away (“were you taking more video?” “maybe.” “you are such a shit!”) before gesturing toward the juke box.

The bar is old, owned by a man who believes in authenticity in the shady-little-bar-experience, and so there’s an actual working jukebox against one wall.

Joan Jett is suddenly blasting through the bar, and Eponine, loosened up by winning, alcohol, and the sheer amount of _fun_ she’s been having, is laughing and dancing and Grantaire spins her around, singing the few words he knows of the song. She knows the whole thing and dances like he imagines she probably does alone in her room, not a care in the world, her long hair down and all swinging hips and easy grins. It’s pure fun and Grantaire spins her again, laughing as they crash into each other.

The other patrons are smiling at them, probably assuming that they’re a couple—Grantaire says as much to Eponine, who bursts out laughing.

“I’ll leave my med student, you leave your golden god, we’ll run off into the sunset. Did you know that Combeferre taught Enjolras how to kiss?” she adds, grinning, and Grantaire’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Remind me to send him a thank-you card,” he says thoughtfully, and Eponine laughs as Grantaire takes her in his arms and dips her dramatically, and she wraps one leg around his and pretends to swoon.

\------

There is flour everywhere, and there have been no fewer than six accidents in the kitchen, but they’re collapsed on Grantaire’s bed now, the two layers of the cake cooking, the frosting finished and waiting for the cake to be finished.

Cosette’s white dress kicks up a cloud of flour every time she moves too fast, and Enjolras’ hands are stained purple, Eponine’s favorite color, from the frosting. They’re sharing a beer and laughing, having more fun than either of them have had in a while, even if Enjolras has to keep excusing himself to sneeze until his entire body aches.

When he gets back the fourth time he has to do this, Cosette is watching him thoughtfully, and she asks, softly, “I did interrupt something this morning, didn’t I?”

Enjolras shrugs and stretches out next to her, biting his lip.

“Listen,” she says, and she sounds so serious, but so gentle. “He’s—he’s a bunch of bits and pieces of everything around him. Everything he loves, he absorbs, and he becomes part of it just as much as it becomes part of him. And he’s been doing that with you for a long, _long_ time but now you’re doing it too and it’s—it’s good for him, you know.”

Enjolras nods, not sure what to say to this, and, to his surprise, Cosette leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“That’s what makes him as beautiful as he is, that he’s so many pieces stitched and taped together, and you get that. You’re good for him.”

“Am I?” Enjolras asks absently, and Cosette takes his hand and squeezes.

“You definitely are.”

\------

“Oh, my god, who let Courfeyrac at the glitter?”

Eponine is grinning too hard to speak, looking around the apartment with a bright smile. They’ve decorated Enjolras’ and Jehan’s place, glitter and streamers everywhere, and Courfeyrac even has a ridiculous party hat on, which he sweeps off, shouting, “Surprise!”

“It’s not a surprise party,” Combeferre points out, snickering, and Courfeyrac shrugs. He’s playing some pop-punk monstrosity on the stereosystem; his laptop is hooked up to the TV, and there’s a slideshow of Eponine with her friends, laughing and dancing, interspersed with Grantaire’s little video clips from throughout the day. On the table is a massive purple cake that’s probably half as tall as Gavroche was at ten; she can clearly smell at least six of her favorite foods from the kitchen, where a filthy Bahorel is grinning, looking as though he made every last one of them and then _fought_ them.

Not to mention the bar that’s been set up, probably two hundred dollars or more worth of alcohol (good alcohol, too, and she makes a mental note to thank Marius).

She’s wearing Grantaire’s sunglasses, and has her arm slung around his waist. When she looks up, he’s filming again, grinning at her.

“I love you, you know,” he tells her. “I mean, you’re Apollo’s best friend, and Cosette’s my best friend, and I know we all tend to fight, but. I do love you.”

“I love you too,” she says, planting a loud, wet kiss to his cheek, and he releases her so that she can throw herself at Cosette and Musichetta, covering them with kisses and ending up falling back on the couch in a tangle of limbs and a shout of laughter. She hugs everyone in turn, taking the joint that Feuilly offers her and passing it off to Enjolras when she gets to him and practically throws herself on top of him.

“We’re getting old,” he whispers, and she nods, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“We are,” she confirms softly, “but at least we’re getting old together.”

Enjolras releases her to let Combeferre come over to take her hand and kiss her, though he stays close by the whole night, watching his best friend and other half with a proud smile. When she looks over at him, he seems serene.

\------

She manages to get a few minutes alone with Combeferre, sitting in Enjolras’ bedroom and catching up on each other’s day. Marius, apparently, was at an absolute loss as to what to buy, and Bossuet apparently managed to break two separate bottles of unbelievably expensive wine before Marius had him wait in the car. He tells her about the food crisis and how Bahorel, Jehan, and Joly solved it, and explains the process of decorating with Courfeyrac, looking both pained and amused.

After a few minutes, he looks over at her and grins, gesturing towards Enjolras’ window. “I want to show you something,” he says softly. She takes his hand and lets him lead her to the window, climbing through it to the fire escape.

“What do you want to show me?” she asks, and he leans forward and kisses her.

He kisses her until he’s backed against the railing along the fire escape, until he’s got both hands curled around her face and her hands are fisted in his shirt, until they’re both breathing too heavily to speak and all they can manage is to grin at each other before moving closer to kiss again. They kiss until they forget how to do much anything else, and when he pulls away, he snakes his arms around her, and she leans into him comfortably.

It’s a gorgeous night, barely chilly and absolutely perfect, and she bites lightly at his lip before saying what she’s been thinking for days now.

“I love you.”

She’s not sure if he’s minded having to wait so long for her to say it back, but the look he gives her, of wonder and surprise and sheer, pure happiness, is enough to let her know he’d have waited forever.

“I love you, too,” he says quietly, and she laughs and kisses him again until they’re both dizzy from it.

\------

When she gets back to the party, Enjolras takes her hand and tugs her to sit with him, sharing his cigarette and his whiskey. They tangle around one another, watching their friends laugh and drink and dance. Joly, Bahorel, and Grantaire are arguing loudly about Lord of the Rings and whether Aragorn would win in a fight with Gimli; Combeferre and Musichetta are bandaging a cut on Bossuet’s hand; Marius and Cosette are swaying back and forth to a song that Eponine doesn’t recognize.

They present her with a gift, one they’ve all chipped in on, and Courfeyrac explains as she tears away the paper to find an electric guitar. “Enjolras told us you used to play, and that you sold yours to help pay for the medical bills when Gav broke his arm last year,” he says proudly, while Eponine tries—and fails—not to cry. It’s gorgeous, shining and unmarked, begging to be touched. “It was his idea.”

She sets the guitar aside carefully to throw her arms around Enjolras beside her, her face buried in his shoulder and his lips pressed to her hair.

They’ve made it this far.

They’ll make it farther still.

And they’ll do it together.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh wow this took a while sorry!!! I'm working on an average of four papers a week but hey-o, almost done!
> 
> there has been A R T! and M U S I C!
> 
> -http://custardandfish.tumblr.com/post/48750084173/satan-france-and-the-eighties-a-mary-kate  
> -http://littlewadoo.tumblr.com/post/48371522559/i-dont-think-i-need-to-introduce-the-fantastic  
> -http://jazzysatindoll.tumblr.com/post/48622648702/for-duskjolras-fic-all-together-now-talk  
> -http://pyladesisdrunk.tumblr.com/post/48568957849/remember-that-sketch-i-did-of-mordern-gavroche  
> -http://wholelottaductape.tumblr.com/post/48560505700/and-another-drawing-for-duskjolras-cosette  
> -http://wholelottaductape.tumblr.com/post/48560019352/had-a-productive-day-i-think-enjolras-eponine  
> -http://wholelottaductape.tumblr.com/post/48559671345/i-have-no-excuse-for-this-it-s-mary-kate-painting  
> -http://ccosettefauchelevent.tumblr.com/post/48451666553/daylighthound-sighs-about-how-adorable-the-last (from Kherrigan)
> 
> Y'all seem to really love Sneezejolras so he's gonna stick around for a bit c: and GUESS WHO'S COMING BACK SOON?
> 
> (I'm probs the only one this excited about it but EEEEE)
> 
> and my blog has moved from duskjolras to ccosettefauchelevent! I've been in a bad mood lately because WOW STRESS but I promise I'm not always quite so snippy <333
> 
> Okay kisses all around you're darling and wonderful and amazing and I love you all to bits :* forever thanks to Lindsay (esp. for talking to me about Grantaire--our mutual interpretation is what Cosette was talking about), Elizabeth, Emily, Lily, and Kaitlyn!
> 
> <3
> 
> (PS the word document where I write TRTMB has passed 100 pages!!! how cool!!!!!)


End file.
